


Keep Me From Falling Apart

by truly_madly_deeply



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Derek's touch keeps Stiles alive, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, Hate to Love, Human Stiles Stilinski, Humor, Love/Hate, M/M, Protective Derek Hale, Romance, Sourwolf Derek Hale, basically just Stiles and Derek bitching at each other as usual, depictions of violence in the first chapter, it's mostly humor after that, obviously, so lots of touching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-08-03 22:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16334144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truly_madly_deeply/pseuds/truly_madly_deeply
Summary: When Stiles gets himself in trouble once again, he gets hurt to the point where he literally keeps passing out all the time.Turns out, for some twisted reason there is only one person who can keep him awake with his touch and has to stay with him 24/7 from now on.Stiles is not amused. Neither is Derek.(Their friends might be just a tiny bit.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic four or five years ago, when I'd just watched season 1 and 2. Then I put it aside halfway through and later picked it up again to translate the first chapters from German to English.  
> I never got to finish it though. But lately I've been having so many Sterek feels and, well, here i am, just throwing this little fic out there. It's not finished yet and I'm still working on the translation, but I just like it too damn much to not post it.
> 
> Since I was quite new to the fandom when I started writing this story, it's probably settled somewhere after season 2, I think. It doesn't really matter though, I've basically ignored the original plot anyway - aside from the undeniable chemistry Sterek share, of course. ;)
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Why, for God’s sake, is it always him? _Why?_ What did he do in an earlier life to deserve such a cruel punishment? Well, apparently that’s what you get for not going home after school like everybody else but returning to the lacrosse field to practise a bit on your own instead …

He shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning, that’s for sure. He should’ve stayed there, ignoring the whole damn planet. That would’ve been a great plan. Unfortunately, it’s too late for regrets now.

But let’s start at the beginning, when there were no indications of what would be happening only a few minutes later …

After dragging himself across the field for what feels like an eternity to the one and only Stiles Stilinski, his breathless sweaty self is trudging into the locker rooms. He considers to leave immediately and take a shower at home but eventually decides against it, not wanting to get any dirt on the seats of his beloved jeep. He still hasn’t managed to get rid of those other nasty stains from last week’s episode of “My best friend is a fucking werewolf and we spent an entire school night in the woods, looking for yet another missing body and eventually running from a group of scary as shit creatures, which is why we fell into a mud hole and ended up ruining every spot in my car that had remained clean until then”. So really, the dirt from practice shouldn’t be too much of a concern at this point, but at least he tries to be responsible, okay?

He hurries into the small bathroom, taking a quick shower and cursing the fact that he’s actually spent a large amount of time on the field. God, he can’t wait to get home, order a large greasy pizza with extra cheese and watch some crappy TV. There aren’t a lot of alternatives left, given the fact that his best friend has stood him up so many times lately, obviously preferring Allison’s presence over his. Stiles can’t remember the last time they’ve done something together that hasn’t involved digging up bones of their classmates and trying to figure out how to stop the latest invasion of pure evil from killing the entire population of their hometown.

He’s just finished dressing in the clothes he’s been wearing to school today and about to close his locker, when suddenly he hears the door being pushed open and loudly echoing footsteps stamping in. There’s a banging sound, like a body being forcefully smashed into a wall, followed by a trembling voice yelping in pain. And then there’s another voice, cutting through the air like a sharpened knife, “Alright, loser, I’m telling you one last time: You’re gonna give us the money tomorrow, or else you’re dead. Do you understand, or do I need to demonstrate on your fingers how much pain you’re going to suffer from?”

“No! No, please!” the first voice cries out. “Please, I’ve never done anything to you, and I don’t have any money. I’m only fourteen, my parents only give me five dollars a week –“

There’s another bang. Unfortunately, it’s the reason why Stiles does something very, very stupid barely ten seconds later.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing, assholes?” And there it is, his mouth joining the stupidity of his feet that have shoved him around the lockers and straight towards the three giant guys standing at the door. Oh God. That’s most likely the most idiotic thing he’s ever done. Well, maybe except for the fact that he keeps having this one dumb dream about hugging a particular permanently grumpy alpha werewolf, but that’s different. Nobody can blame him, nope, definitely not. It’s not Stiles’ fault that Derek’s so goddamn … well. _Huggable._

He’s stopped in his thoughts about his favourite enemy by one of the giants he’s facing now. „Who the fuck are you?” the guy snorts with an evil laugh, and only mere seconds later Stiles’ feet are dangling half a metre above the floor while his body is being pressed against the nearest locker with painful force. Stiles almost feels offended by that, to be honest. Who does this asshole think he is? There’s no way _in hell_ that Stiles just lets some moronic _stranger_ do that to him!

Moronic favourite enemies, especially the huggable ones, are something entirely different though. He almost wishes Derek was here. _Almost._

“Hey!” he starts complaining immediately, ignoring the fact that he’s probably supposed to shut his damn mouth if he actually wants to survive this situation. “Let me down! Now! Or else I’m gonna kick your ass, you stupid little -”

He can’t finish his insult, thanks to a fist ramming into his stomach and nearly causing him to throw up. Stiles can hear his own scream ringing in his ears while he’s being shoved to the ground and several feet are starting to kick him mercilessly.

“If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead,” one of his tormentors threatens, eventually backing off and disappearing out of the room along with his two friends. Just before he leaves, he turns around one more time though and seems to throw something at him, and Stiles almost passes out at the sharp pain that rushes through his body for all but a minute or two.

After that, there’s only dead silence. Stiles blinks helplessly, his eyes filled with tears due to the dreadful pain in his stomach, and he almost misses the empty spot where the bullies’ first victim has been crouching down a few moments ago. Now he’s gone, and Stiles tries to be mad at him for abandoning him after he’s _saved_ him, but he can’t. Not really, at least. The kid’s been terrified, of course he’s escaped as soon as he could. And Stiles is almost one hundred percent sure that the boy’s way too scared to tell the police what’s happened. So, he’s on his own here, there won’t be anybody coming for his rescue.

Slowly, very slowly, Stiles attempts to sit up and finally catch his breath. He fails though, not being able to move and breathe properly at the same time. Everything just _hurts_ so fucking much and then the room’s starting to spin around him, so he has to lie back on the floor again and close his eyes for a moment. It’s not just the pain from the kicks to his stomach, it can’t be. Whatever that guy’s been throwing at him - and Stiles doesn’t have a fucking clue what it was, because he can barely see anything at this point - it must have hurt him really badly.

One thing’s for sure: He’s not gonna stay for solo practice after school ever again. It’s definitely a health risk.

Somehow he eventually manages to crawl towards his backpack, all while breathing so heavily that he’s beginning to think his chest must be sliced open. Which is fucking ridiculous, because even through that embarrassingly huge amount of tears in his eyes he can still see that there’s no blood on his shirt. They might have kicked him in the stomach, but the only blood he’s lost so far is smeared across his forehead, which must have happened when they’ve forcefully pushed him to the ground.

He starts rummaging through his backpack until he gets a grip of his phone. Then he has to lie down again for a minute or so while silently cursing the entire world for being such a fucking pain in the ass. Sure, he’s found himself in pretty bad situations before, but at least fate has always been kind enough to send someone in order to save him. Now he’s all alone and can’t even get up to his own two feet. It’s pathetic, really.

He probably looks worse than ever before, too, with all the tears and blood on his face. Like a zombie or some werewolf malformation. Speaking of werewolf, he really needs to call Scott before his eyes get too swollen. He’s been at the point where he can barely see through his eyelids for minutes now and it takes several attempts for him to unlock the screen and open his contact list. The first name is Allison, but she’s lost her phone a couple of days ago and hasn’t bought a new one yet, so calling her is no option. Unfortunately, he’s quite sure that he won’t be able to scroll down all the way to Scott’s name. Dammit, he really needs to set up the speed dial function on his phone!

“Fuck,” he mutters, cursing himself for being so stupid. He’s feeling too weak to keep his eyes open now, and the last name he manages to make out on the screen is the one he really shouldn’t be calling in this situation. He needs to stop dragging his father into his personal disasters, for God’s sake! Then again, he is the _Sheriff_ , and any sane person would call the police in a situation like this. Right?

His weakening body leaves him no choice. All but blindly he presses the call button, not getting it right the first time and desperately pressing it again. For a second or two, there’s nothing but silence, but then Stiles hears the dial tone and feels a wave of relief wash over him.

„Stiles?!“

Tears of exhaustion and utter relief are streaming down his face. He’s almost knocked out by now, not able to see anything through his closed eyelids anymore and barely hearing the voice at the other end of the line. He’s just unbelievably grateful that someone has picked up the phone, although he kind of senses that something must be wrong. He doesn’t even know what it might be, and he really doesn’t have the time to think about it.

“Hello?” he chokes out, wiping away the tears and blood and locker room dirt on his face. “Oh thank God. I need your help. I can’t … I’m sorry but … this is … an emergency …“

„Stiles, what the hell? What happened? Why are you calling _me_?“

Stiles frowns a little. That’s not his Dad, is it? His Dad wouldn’t phrase it like that and he most certainly wouldn’t snap at him for calling him of all people. But if it’s not his Dad, who the fuck is it?

“Help me,” Stiles begs, his voice being only a whisper by now. He doesn’t care who he’s talking to right now because he’s most likely never been so desperate in his life. He’ll take any help he can get. “I’m at Beacon … Hills High School. Please, I need help. I can’t … move. Can’t … breathe …” His voice is beginning to drift off and so is his consciousness. The last thing he faintly hears is someone yelling at him, something about him being an idiot whose throat is gonna be ripped out with bare teeth if this turns out to be a prank call.

 _I wish it was_ , are Stiles’ last thoughts while there’s a tiny realisation in the back of his head about the threat he’s received sounding slightly familiar. Then his eyelashes flutter shut and everything turns completely dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the first chapter, please leave kudos and comments. x


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to all of you who have left feedback and kudos so far! :)))
> 
> Enjoy chapter 2. ;)

“Fucking Stiles, I’m gonna kill him,“ a totally annoyed alpha werewolf mutters under his breath while sprinting through the dark corridors of Beacon Hills High School, being led towards the locker room by his distinctive senses. He hears a steadily weakening heartbeat and can smell blood, unconsciousness - and Stiles.

Why the hell has this goddamn idiot called _him_? Why not Scott? And when has Stiles ever said _please_ to him before? When has Stiles ever asked him a favour at all? He’s not entirely sure he’ll ever find answers to these questions but there isn’t enough time to think about it anyway, because as soon as Derek throws the door to the locker room open and storms inside, his heart seems to stop for a split second.

Stiles is motionlessly lying on the floor, his eyes closed and his face covered in dirt and blood. He looks worse than Derek has ever seen him before and the alpha can’t help but wonder again why on earth Stiles hasn’t called someone else, _anyone else_. Derek’s pretty sure that Stiles would rather have his hands cut off than let him, Derek, see him like that.

“Stiles?” As soon as Derek is by his side, he’s already kneeling down beside him and starting to shake the seemingly lifeless body of the younger boy. “Stiles, come on, wake up! I know you’re not dead, I can hear your heartbeat! Open your eyes, just a little, okay? You need to tell me what happened here so I can go to whoever did this to you and break their neck for ruining my evening like that! And I’m gonna break yours too for dragging me into this mess, you hear me?” Derek only just now realises that he’s actually _blabbering_. Why is his mouth letting out all those dumb words that make absolutely no sense?

Oh God, he’s turning into _Stiles_.

“I hate you,” Derek tells him while shoving his shoulder a bit more forcefully this time. Is he imagining things or have Stiles’ beautifully curled eyelashes just fluttered a tiny bit? (Not that he has paid any attention to them. He also has no fucking clue how on earth his mind has come up with this description. It’s ridiculous, really.) “I hate you for doing this to me.” He’s not even sure what exactly he means by that. Sure, his evening has been ruined, but it feels like more than that. Derek usually doesn’t stutter out stupid comments and most importantly, he never loses his ability to remain restrained. _Never._ He is the alpha, after all.

However, seeing Stiles like this seems to have turned his entire usual self upside down. Derek hates it. He should have called Scott right away and stayed at home instead of jumping into his car and breaking the speed limit while driving here. He’s saved Stiles’ ass more times than he can count by now, it definitely has to stop. On the other hand, he can’t deny that he himself would’ve also died a hundred times already if it wasn’t for that stupid, annoying kid and his weird ability to come up with the most idiotic yet strangely efficient plans.

“Stiles,” Derek repeats loudly enough to make the invention of the megaphone redundant. This time he definitely doesn’t imagine things when Stiles’ eyelashes flutter. And Derek can feel the younger boy’s heartbeat become steadier, so he places one hand on his pale arm and pulls out his phone with the other one. He’s going to call an ambulance and tell them to get here as fast as possible. And then he needs to call Scott, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to be here when the paramedics show up and ask their usual questions. This is sort of a crime scene and Derek’s not going to be a part of it.

He makes the first call, telling them everything they need to know and hanging up before they can start asking questions he doesn’t want to answer, like what exactly has happened and what his name is. Then he tries to reach Scott. Stiles is still unconscious but his heart rate seems to be almost back to normal, which is definitely a good thing.

“Where the hell are you?” Derek hisses as soon as Scott picks up, not wasting any time. “I just found your best friend in the locker room, he’s been beaten up and now he won’t even open his eyes. Move your ass over here if you don’t want him to die!”

He can hear Scott gasp in shock. „Derek? What are you talking about, how did you –“

“Just get here, idiot,” Derek interrupts him impatiently, pulling back his hand from Stiles’ arm and placing it over his heart without even realising it. “I called an ambulance, they should be here any minute. I’m not staying here, you’ll be the one telling them you found him.” He hangs up without waiting for an answer and is about to get to his feet while turning his gaze to Stiles’ alarmingly pale face – and then he almost drops his phone, because a pair of wide brown eyes is intensely staring at him.

“Derek?” Stiles croaks, blinking at him incredulously. It isn’t until now that Derek realises where he’s put his hand, and he hastily pulls it back and clears his throat.

“Stiles, you idiot!” he growls at him while stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “Congratulations, you’ve finally lost your mind. Care to explain what happened here and why you called me of all people?”

Stiles opens his mouth, probably to snarl back something utterly sarcastic, but the words never leave his mouth. Instead, his lips are beginning to tremble and his eyes are fluttering shut, and Derek can hear Stiles’ heart skip a beat or two.

“Stiles?” Derek says, the shakiness of his own voice catching him off guard and his own heart suddenly thudding in his chest. Out of a reflex, he places his hand back on Stiles’ chest, right over his heart where it has been only a minute ago.

And he, Derek Hale, actually flinches at the promptly following reaction of the other boy, which consists of his eyes flickering open again and his voice almost grumpily rumbling out of his throat, “Yes, Sourwolf, what is it? What the hell are you doing here?”

This kid is unbelievable. How can he even ask this question? Derek feels slightly torn between just rolling his eyes at him and leaving, or strangling him with his bare hands first. Knowing Stiles, even with Derek’s hands around his throat he would probably come up with some stupid smartass comment.

Derek just wants to go home and forget Stiles even exists. On the other hand, he doesn’t actually want him to vanish, at least not completely. It’s all very confusing and he absolutely hates it.

“Derek? Are you alright?” Stiles asks with a slight frown on his forehead, which Derek nearly misses due to all that blood and dirt covering it.

He almost huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re asking me if I’m alright?” he says instead. “Really, Stiles?”

Stiles gives him a _look_. “I know you’re old and all, but since you’re a werewolf, _Grandpa Derek_ , at least your hearing should still be fine?“ he mocks him, because of fucking course he has to keep doing that in every possible situation. Derek wants to sink his teeth into his throat and _kill him_.

(It’s also not the first time he’s thought about biting Stiles’ neck, but he would rather die than ever have to admit that to anyone but himself.)

“Why are you asking me if I’m alright, wenn clearly _you_ are the one who’s not?” he says instead. Then he realises once again that his hand is firmly pressed to Stiles’ chest, and that is absolutely unacceptable, so he pulls it back.

“What are you talking about? I’m fine!” Stiles protests, his upper body practically shooting into an upright position. Then he glances at him suspiciously, “What are you even doing here, Derek?”

“You called me and begged me to help you,” Derek replies, struggling to suppress a groan. He’s going to get a headache if he stays in Stiles’ presence any longer, that’s for sure.

Stiles’ eyes widen almost comically. “Are you kidding me? I would never -” But instead of finishing his sentence, which Derek would have absolutely loved to hear (definitely not), he’s suddenly thudding back to the floor and gasping for air. “Shit, I can’t … can’t breathe … Derek … please …”

Derek, while basically freaking out in his mind, remains seemingly unfazed on the outside. “See, you’re doing it again. You’re _begging_ ,” he states dryly, and then he realises how that’s sounded and almost blushes a little.

Obviously he doesn’t. He’s the alpha, after all.

Stiles wouldn’t have noticed anyway, being too busy trying to catch his breath and failing miserably. “Derek, I’m … serious,” he only just manages to get out. Underneath all the dirt and blood, his face is turning alarmingly pale again, and Derek thinks that he really can’t let him get unconscious again - even though it would at least shut him up for now.

“Stiles, pull yourself together!” he practically growls at him, his eyes flashing red for just a split second, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbing Stiles’ hand and squeezing it just as hard as possible without breaking his knuckles. “Just take a deep breath and then tell me what happened to you!”

And just like that, Stiles is able to breathe again and his head stops spinning. His mind, however, keeps racing and he can’t seem to catch up. What has happened here? He faintly remembers being beaten up in the locker room and calling his Dad afterwards, and then he must have blacked out. But … it wasn’t his Dad who he’d spoken to, was it? No, definitely not, his father wouldn’t have yelled at him like that. But if it wasn’t his Dad, who the fuck did he –

“Oh shit,” he groans as the realisation hits him hard. “I called _you_ , didn’t I? Fuck, I wanted to call my Dad and my fingers must have slipped, I couldn’t really see anything at that point, and that’s why I called you instead of him, because otherwise I would’ve never done that, I mean, you’re basically the last person on earth I would want to see ...”

Derek can’t take it anymore. “Okay, okay, I get it, you don’t like me, the feeling’s mutual, now stop talking!” He glares at the younger boy and clenches his teeth, all while resisting the temptation of murder. (Some very annoying voices in his head tell him that he could never actually hurt Stiles. He tells them to shut up.)

“But you wanted me to talk.” Stiles looks at him with his lips turned into his typical stupid pout that Derek absolutely lo - loathes. 

“Just tell me what happened to you,” the werewolf says through gritted teeth. “And don’t start rambling, it’s annoying.” Also kind of cute, but he’d rather rip his own brain out than even think about it for more than two tiny seconds.

Stiles looks at him with a frown. “No need to get bossy, Sourwolf. And by the way, why the fuck are you holding my hand?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. What do you guys think? Did you like the second chapter? Let me know, okay? ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand I'm back! Thanks for all the hits, kudos and comments! :)

“No need to get bossy, Sourwolf. And by the way, why the fuck are you holding my hand?”

Derek pulls back his own hand so fast as if he’s burnt himself on something. He’s obviously not blushing, being the alpha and all, but Stiles kind of wishes he would. He likes to think that a slightly flustered look would actually be sort of cute on Derek’s face.

“I’m not holding it, see?” Derek growls. “Now talk.”

Stiles feels a little bit offended. He isn’t even sure why, but it has become a rather familiar state of emotion in Derek’s presence, so he doesn’t question it. “Well,” he huffs out and raises his chin a bit, “I don’t think you should be barking orders at me.”

Derek’s eyes turn dark. It’s just a matter of time and they’ll be flashing red again, he just knows it. “Yeah, you’re right. I should just leave you here and go. Have fun waiting for Scott and the paramedics. I don’t care, Stiles, I really don’t,” he says as coldly as possible, already getting to his feet. He doesn’t mean any of that, and Stiles probably knows it. Which is why Derek feels the urge to add, “Who knows, maybe they’ll do us all a favour by being late.”

Stiles gasps in an outraged manner and is about to throw one of his usual insults at him – when suddenly all of his body functions seem to freeze again and the words die in his throat. Okay, _what the fuck_ is happening to him?!?

“Stiles?“ Derek says in an alarmed tone before kneeling down again and kind of hesitatingly placing one of his hands on Stiles’ arm. Fuck it, he does care, and they both know it. “For God’s sake, just _breathe_.”

“I’m trying,” Stiles croaks while squinting his eyes at Derek’s hand on his arm. This time, he stops himself from making a stupid comment about it and almost immediately feels the scary weakness disappear again. Okay, that’s not only confusing but most definitely one of the creepiest things he’s experienced, like, _ever_. “I … I think I’m good,” he mumbles (because let’s face it, he can’t let Derek see that he’s slightly freaked out at this point!) and is about to sit up again, but Derek isn’t letting that happen.

“You’re not getting up,” he says with his admittedly quite sexy, demanding alpha voice that has Stiles shiver slightly. “Stay there and don’t move.”

Stiles just _has_ to answer him back. “But –“

“No.” He can still feel Derek’s right hand on his arm while the other one is now hovering above his torso again, only mere millimetres away from touching his chest. “Now tell me, who did this to you?”

“Why do you care?” Stiles huffs out, still utterly confused and kind of overwhelmed by the fact that his body keeps bouncing back between threatening weakness and complete relaxation. Something’s wrong here, he just can’t wrap his head around it yet, but he’s _trying_ , okay?

“Seriously, Stiles? Asking stupid questions is your way of thanking me for saving your ass?” Derek retorts dryly and doesn’t even try to hide the annoyed look on his face anymore.

Once again, Stiles can’t keep his damn mouth shut. “I’m not letting you anywhere near my ass, thank you very much,” he says without thinking and immediately cringes at his own words. Okay, he should definitely start using his brain to mouth filter. He’s just not too sure it even exists.

Derek actually looks taken aback for a second, then he rolls his eyes. Which, to be fair, means he’s showing more emotion than with his usual stoic death glare. “Wasn’t going to ask for it, dumbass.“

“Really, _that’s_ your best comeback?“ Stiles kind of wants to strangle himself. At least then he wouldn’t be able to talk anymore. But he can’t help it, he just has to be a pain in the ass around Derek. – Okay, wrong choice of words, _fuck_.

The werewolf just gives him another pointed look and this time it actually shuts Stiles up. “I’m asking you one more time,” Derek says, his tone almost warning, and for merely two seconds his eyes are glowing red again. Stiles can’t help but shiver at that. “Who did this to you? Because I’m sure as hell going to break their necks for ruining my peaceful evening _without you_.”

“Oh, okay, so you’re the one whose evening has been ruined?” Alright, so the silence hasn’t lasted particularly long. Fuck it, Stiles isn’t made for it anyway. “Which unfortunate parallel universe are you befouling with your presence right now, Sourwolf? Because apparently it’s not the one where the poor kid that stood up for someone else nearly got killed for their undeniable bravery, you know?”

To his great surprise, he sees Derek’s face visibly soften at that. “Who was it, Stiles?” he asks again, but this time with no real force behind his words. There’s almost a tiny spark of worry in his voice, like he actually cares, and it makes Stiles’ stupid heart jump a little.

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen them before. Three guys, they were probably even taller than you are.” Shit, he shouldn’t have said that last part. He can basically _see_ Derek smirk, even though his lips remain motionless. It’s in his eyes, just a tiny spark of a grin, and Stiles likes it way too much, so he keeps talking to distract them both, “They came in, threatening some kid I don’t know either, and I tried to help him but, well. They weren’t exactly amused by that, so … this happened.” He crunches up his face a little because he suddenly remembers how bad he must look with all the blood and dried tears on his swollen face. Derek probably thinks he’s a total loser.

“Alright,” Derek says with an unreadable expression on his face. His voice is calm but his eyes are dark, most likely darker than Stiles has ever seen them before. He swallows the sudden lump in his throat as soon as the realisation hits him: Derek’s not calm, not at all. He’s also not angry. No, he’s far past that point already, and Stiles isn’t doubting for a second that if the alpha ever crosses paths with those three guys, he’ll make them _suffer_.

That thought is both scary and – much to Stiles’ frustration – a slight turn on. Dammit, he’s not supposed to think that. He’s supposed to hate Derek’s guts and ignore the fact that he’s got an incredibly hot body, just like he always does very, very convincingly.

“Alright?” Stiles repeats Derek’s words in a slightly uneven voice. “That’s all you’ve got to say? How about, _hey Stiles, well done, you’re a hero, everyone’s gonna love you for being such a great human being and will praise your_ -“

“Shut up, Stiles. What about the other kid?” Derek asks seemingly unfazed and Stiles just stupidly gapes at him for a moment. He can’t believe Derek’s just interrupted him in such a rude way. Well, actually he shouldn’t be surprised about it either, but it doesn’t change the fact that he feels rather offended.

“They were too distracted, I guess. He got away,” he mutters eventually and then he narrows his eyes at the werewolf and practically glares at him. “Hey, just to be curious. Has there ever been a moment in your life where you actually considered being nice and understanding? Because you should try it for once. Maybe just for a second, you know. It would be a real progress, Asswolf.”

For a couple of seconds, Derek looks at him with an almost unreadable expression, but Stiles still doesn’t miss the dark shadows in his eyes - which makes him realise that his words might have actually _hurt_ Derek. It’s not a good feeling, and suddenly Stiles is full of regret.

He’s lowering his head in shame. What has he been thinking? He’s crossed a line here, definitely. Sure, they’re always bitching at each other, but calling him _Asswolf_ , really? Right after Derek‘s probably saved his life by showing up here? Not cool.

“I’m … I don’t mean it like that,“ he mumbles quietly.

Derek detaches his right hand from Stiles’ arm and the other one from where it has still been hovering over his chest. “Yeah you do,” he mutters while getting to his feet and putting both of his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

If Stiles is being completely honest, he finds himself kind of jealous of that fabric, but even his somewhat fucked up brain realises that now is not the time to complain. „No, Derek, no, I’m … I’m sorry,” he manages to say, which really isn’t an easy thing for him to do. Not when it’s _Derek Hale_ who he has to apologise to.

Derek just shrugs. He fucking _shrugs_ , as if it is no big deal. But it is. It really, really is.

“I’m _apologising_ here,” Stiles says in an almost desperate - and also slightly accusing - tone, but Derek just turns away from him and walks towards the door.

That’s when that dreadful feeling of weakness kicks in again, causing a wave of panic to rush through Stiles’ entire body. “Derek, don’t leave me! Please!” he all but shouts after him while his brain is finally hit with the sudden horrible realisation what all of this stupid mess probably means - it has to, it’s the only explanation he can think of. Even if it’s totally _freaking him out_.

“Calm down, Stiles,” he hears Derek’s restrained voice. “The ambulance will be here any minute. Besides, Scott’s just arrived, so I’m gonna meet him outside and tell him to look after you. No need to panic, just quit being stupid.”

Stiles wants to scream at him to stop. He wants to _beg_ him to stay, because if any of those wildly spinning thoughts in his mind turn out to be true, he has no fucking choice. Oh God, please, no. For once in his life, he actually hopes to be wrong about something …

He’s not, and he knows it. Yes, Derek is a werewolf and could probably take some of the pain away from him if he was actually wounded. But that’s the problem: he’s not. Sure, the kicks haven’t been totally harmless, but they’re not the problem here, that’s something even Stiles’ slowly fading consciousness is painfully aware of now.

Whatever that one guy has thrown at him - Stiles thinks that it must’ve been some sort of hex. He has been fucking _cursed_ and is probably going to _die_ , or at least pass out and not wake up again for the next at least a hundred years ...

There’s nothing he himself can do about it, it seems, and for some sick, twisted reason the one who can has just left and will most likely never come back for him. It’s a realisation that hurts for so many reasons, and it’s also the last thing that Stiles can wrap his thoughts around before drifting off, far away into a seemingly endless sea of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that got a bit serious in the end but i hope you liked it anyway.  
> Let me know what you think! xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, my left hand got injured two weeks ago and typing with only one hand sucks. :(

Derek has had enough. Seriously, he’s so done with stupid Stiles and his stupid face and stupid lips and stupid _everything_.

He just about stops himself from sharing these thoughts with Scott when he meets him and Allison in the hallway of the school on his way out. Not in a million years is he going to mention Stiles’ lips to anyone, so he settles for a grumpy look, mumbling “He’s still in the locker room, I’m out of here”, all while ignoring the urge to slice Allison’s throat open with his claws, simply for existing.

Okay, maybe for more than that. She kind of might be on their side now, but she’s still part of a family of fucking _werewolf hunters_ and that’s not something Derek’s just gracefully going to overlook. Scott might have become a soft lovesick puppy, but Derek hasn’t, and he most definitely isn’t acting ridiculous because of a stupid crush!

“Derek, wait! What happened?” Scott asks wide-eyed.

“Go ask him yourself,” Derek grumbles back. “And you should probably call his father,“ he adds as an afterthought. “Apparently he wanted to do that in the first place but accidentally dialled my number instead. So. Yeah. Bye.“

He cringes at his own stupid voice that shouldn’t be giving away any emotions but unfortunately does anyway. Scott’s too busy worrying about his best friend to notice, but apparently Allison’s not, because she’s raising her eyebrows at Derek knowingly and looks like she’s about to say something ridiculously clever, which Derek absolutely does not want to hear right now. Or, ever.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to because Scott has decided to be an idiot and drag him back towards the locker room. Derek is not entirely sure why he lets him; he could easily shove Scott’s hand off his arm and just walk away, but for some reason he doesn’t.

Maybe, he realises as they enter the locker room and find Stiles passed out on the floor, it’s because a tiny part of him just can’t seem to leave that annoying kid behind. And even though he has attempted to shut Stiles’ heartbeat out at the very moment he has left the room three minutes ago, his subconsciousness obviously hasn’t fully allowed it. Something isn’t right, and he’s known it even before walking back into the room.

“Stiles, wake up!” he says loudly, his voice forcefully restrained, and kneels down beside him even before Scott does. “Hey, Stiles! Scott is here, tell him you’re okay!”

Allison snorts at him in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? Seriously, does he _look_ like he’s okay?!”

“Why did you leave him in here?“ Scott chimes in before Derek gets the chance to flash his bright red alpha eyes at his girlfriend. His voice is wavering with the same sort of panic that Derek’s so desperately trying to hide himself. “Why didn’t you stay with him for a couple more minutes, at least until I would’ve been here? Was he unconscious when you left?”

Derek glares at him, because let’s face it, he’s pretty good at that. “He wasn’t.” After that, he hesitates for a second, not being quite sure what else to say. He doesn’t understand what’s going on here, why Stiles keeps passing out and waking up again, so how on earth should he explain it to Scott and Allison?

“I can’t believe this,” Allison mumbles while Scott’s kneeling down on Stiles’ other side now. “What happened to him?” She looks like she wants to add another comment, maybe something bitter like “Who is responsible for ruining my night with Scott?”, but at least she has the decency to not say it out loud.

“He told me that some guys threatened another kid, and of course he had to go and intervene,” Derek mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and he can’t help but roll his eyes at Stiles’ boundless stupidity. “They beat him up, the other kid ran away, they left, Stiles called me. Accidentally, as I said. He wanted to call his Dad. He didn’t even notice it was me.” He just feels the urge to make that clear one more time, not realising how idiotic it sounds until he’s blurted it out. Allison gives him another one of her knowing looks and he forces himself to ignore it instead of ripping it out of her face with his claws.

“And then what?“ Scott asks, once again not sensing the mess that is Derek’s emotions, and places both hands on his best friend’s shoulders, shaking him lightly. “You came to the school and found him here?”

“Yes,” Derek replies as unfazed as possible. He can’t let Scott pick up his racing heartbeat, so he has to force himself to calm down. The problem is, he can’t. And to make things worse, he has to fight the urge to place his own hands on Stiles’ body as well, like he’s done before.

But now Scott is doing that for him, and it should be enough. After all, he is Stiles’ best friend in the entire world. He, Derek, shouldn’t even be here anymore.

“But on the phone you told me he wasn’t opening his eyes! So he was unconscious when you arrived, right?”

Derek glares at his own traitorous hands that are dangerously twitching towards Stiles’ chest. “Yes, but he woke up.” And then almost passed out again. _Twice_. But he sure as hell isn't going to say that aloud. “It seemed to help that I talked to him, you should do that.”

“Just slap him in the face, that should wake him up.” Derek’s almost forgotten that Allison’s still there, and when he hears her suggestion he nearly spins around to shoot a death glare at her.

That would be stupid, of course, because she sort of has a point there. So he doesn’t. He also doesn’t want to acknowledge the internal meltdown he’s currently having due to Stiles’ heartbeat that’s gradually slowing down by the minute. Fuck, he’s going to kill this idiot for making him actually feel _helpless_!

Scott doesn’t slap his friend, but he’s shaking his shoulders with more force now, a look of panic in his widened brown eyes. “Shit, he’s not waking up! Stiles, come on, don’t do this to me, open your eyes, _please wake up_!”

Just when Derek is about to give in and place his own hands on Stiles’ motionless body as well, he hears footsteps behind them. Suddenly there are people everywhere, asking him and Scott to step aside, and while he is scrambling to his feet and moving out of the way as quickly as possible, he is wondering why he hasn’t even heard the paramedics approaching them right until they’ve entered the room. What the hell is happening to his werewolf senses? He can’t get distracted like that ever again, that’s for sure!

He sees Scott and Allison talk to one of the people, and normally he would have heard every word they say but for some reason he doesn’t. He slightly turns his head, glueing his eyes to Stiles and letting out a small sigh of relief as one of the paramedics places an oxygen mask over Stiles’ pale face. He will be okay. Stiles will be fine. There is absolutely no reason for Derek to stay here any longer.

So he leaves. He ducks through the door and walks through the dark empty hallway. Strangely, his mind is filled with wildly spinning thoughts and left completely blank at the same time. It’s bizarre and confusing and definitely not something Derek ever wants to experience again. He’s glad to step out of the building eventually, closing his eyes for a moment and taking deep breaths.

When he opens them again, it’s to the sight of the paramedics pushing a stretcher through the door. Scott and Allison are right behind them, but Derek doesn’t even notice them. His gaze immediately fixes itself on Stiles, who is lying on the stretcher with his eyes closed and his face paler than ever.

Then Derek hears it.

Dum-dum. Dum. Dum-dum. Dum. Dum … dum ...

Stiles‘ stupid heart is beating way too slowly in his chest, slower even than when he’s found him in the locker room earlier this evening. And suddenly all the thoughts in Derek’s head that he hasn’t been able to grasp for the past couple of minutes seem to come to a halt and fall into place.

It hits Derek like a ton of bricks.

Shit.

 _Oh fuck_.

“Why is his heart rate sinking? _Do something_!” Scott all but yells at the paramedics. Allison tries to hold him back, obviously being the only one here who’s still thinking rationally, and tells her boyfriend to “stop being an idiot” and “let the guys do their job”, and Derek - well, Derek is left frozen from head to toe.

It can’t be. But it has to. Stiles has gotten weaker several times while they’ve been talking. But he has regained his consciousness and strength every time, seeming almost normal again - until now. Because something is missing this time. Something that apparently neither Scott McCall nor an oxygen mask can fix ...

Derek can’t believe it’s taken him this long to figure it out. Well, he still doesn’t want to accept it as the truth, still thinks this is illogical and stupid and downright _crazy_ , but to be honest, there is simply no other explanation at this point. At least he can’t come up with anything else that would make even remotely sense to him.

He doesn’t realise he’s shaken off his lethargy and moved towards the group of people, but suddenly he is standing next to the stretcher and staring down at Stiles’ face. The paramedics are trying to shove him away, but Derek being Derek doesn’t even flinch. He slightly hesitates for two, three more seconds … and then he reaches out and takes Stiles’ alarmingly cold hand into his own.

“Stiles,” he says resolutely while squeezing his hand. “Stiles, wake up.” Everyone is looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind, but he doesn’t care. He’s never been anyone’s favourite anyway, so why should he start worrying about it now? This is not about winning a popularity contest, it is about _doing the right thing_.

Despite his reputation, Derek has always cared about other people - not all people, he’s got to admit that, but he really doesn’t see himself as a particularly bad person. However, he can’t seem to remember the last time he wanted to do something so desperately that hasn’t revolved around himself.

Because literally nothing about this will help Derek. It’s not for him, it’s for Stiles. Skinny, defenceless Stiles, who has annoyed him to no end about a thousand times by now and will most likely never stop to do so.

It doesn’t matter, Derek thinks as he squeezes Stiles’ hand a little harder. He will take it, if it means he gets to see this beautiful pair of amber eyes ever again.

“Stiles,” he says one more time, his voice not being loud and firm anymore but rather a shaky whisper. “Stiles, open your eyes.”

And Stiles does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think about this chapter. I'm happy about any comment, even if it's a short one. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!
> 
> Also, I'm so sorry you had to wait a couple weeks for this chapter. It took longer for my hand to heal than I expected, but it's a lot better now, so hopefully I'll be able to update sooner the next time!
> 
> Oh, and a massive thank you for all those kudos and comments you've left on the last chapter! It's so great to see that you guys like this story. :)

Stiles is surrounded by darkness. Everything just fucking _hurts_ and he has probably never felt weaker and more helpless in his entire life.

He tries to remember where he went and what happened, how he got stuck in this darkness, why nobody’s here to save him … But his mind is completely blank, everything is just as dark as in front of his eyes. His eyes … does he still have eyes? He raises a hand to feel his face, or at least he wants to, but all of a sudden he can’t even feel his hands anymore.

Panic begins to rise in his chest. He needs to get away from this place as fast as possible, but he can’t feel his legs either. Even more panic is welling up inside him, hot and salty tears are suddenly running down his burning cheeks. At least he can still feel _something_ , even if it’s just gruesome pain. It’s not really something he wants to feel though, so he desperately attempts to open his mouth and scream Derek’s name …

Wait, what?

Stiles’ heart skips a beat. Derek’s name? Now, that’s just ridiculous. He would never turn to Derek in a situation like this, or ever for that matter. Never. He definitely would call for his best friend … Shit, what is his name again?

 _Derek. Derek, Derek, Derek._ Stiles’ pulse skyrockets when he realises that it’s literally the only name that still exists in his fogged up brain. Why Derek? Why can’t he think of anything or anyone else anymore? Why does his body hurt so much? Why is he frozen to the spot and can’t feel _anything_ beside that pain??

So many questions and no answers. Is he even still alive? Something like this has never happened to him before!

“Stiles.”

His heart almost seems to stop. That’s Derek’s voice. _Derek_ has called his name. It feels like he is standing right in front of him, and Stiles wants nothing more than to reach forward and grab him, and then never let go.

But he can’t, remember? Because he can’t feel his arms or his hands or anything else …

“Stiles. Open your eyes.”

Stiles holds his breath. Out of nowhere he can see something now, a strong red glow directly in front of him, despite his eyes still being shut. The glow seems strangely familiar, but he can’t quite put it together yet, no matter how hard he attempts to search the darkest corners of his mind.

Does it have anything to do with Derek? Why can’t he remember? Why can’t he _think_?

“Look at me, Stiles.”

Now he feels even more tears burning on his face. They can’t seem to stop flooding his cheeks. “I can’t,” he chokes out - and that’s surprising, because a minute ago he definitely couldn’t get any words past his trembling lips.

“Yes, you can. Open your eyes. Look at me.”

“Derek, I can’t. Please … help me.”

There is a tender touch on his hand, which he can suddenly feel again, and Derek’s voice repeats once again, “Look at me, Stiles. Open your eyes. You can do it, I know it.”

“How?” Stiles wonders, his voice barely audible even to himself. “How do you know that I can do it? I’m not strong enough …”

Somehow the red glow he sees through closed eyelids seems to become even stronger. “I know it, because I believe in you. You’ve still got your anchor. Hold on to that, take a deep breath, and then open your eyes. I’m right here.”

Stiles shudders, which isn’t a pleasant feeling at his current state but at least it means he can _feel_ again. “What is my anchor?” he whispers while desperately keeping his gaze fixed on that red glow. Somehow it seems to be the reason why he can feel again, talk again, _breathe_ again.

“You know the answer, Stiles. Now you just need to remember it. Come on, go ahead, figure it out. It’s easier than you think, the answer is right there …”

“But I can’t remember! I want to, but I can’t! I can’t remember anything, except …” Stiles’ breath hitches as a sudden realisation kicks in. “Except you,” he says, completely stunned by this revelation. “That can’t be true, Derek! Why would it be _you_?”

He has to wait for at least half a minute until he hears Derek’s voice again, and it definitely sounds more hesitant this time. “I can’t give you any answers. We’re not really talking, this is all just in your own head. You know that, right?”

Shit, this is just getting even more confusing. “But - you said you were right here?”

“I am here, but so is your best friend, and he’s worried sick about you. Are you talking to him, too?”

“No, I … I can’t remember his name. Or anything about him.” It hurts to admit that, but not as bad as Stiles would have expected it to. “He’s not my anchor. You are.” He can’t believe he’s voicing that aloud, it’s hard enough to even _think_ it. “Fuck, I hate this, I hate _you_.”

Derek - or whatever version of him he is talking to right now - actually snorts at that. “Why are you still lying to yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t hate me. You want to, but you don’t. Come on, just admit it. You can say it, nobody’s gonna hear you.”

Stiles has never been more confused in his entire life. Also, he only now realises that the pain he’s been in has almost completely vanished. “Nobody? Not even you?”

“Not even me,” Derek confirms, his voice turning a bit softer. “I told you, this is not real. So? Are you still insisting you hate me?”

“Well …” Stiles is struggling to get the next words out. “I don’t _like_ you, that’s for sure.”

“Stiles.” Now Derek sounds almost a little disappointed. “You’re not talking to me or your friends right now, you’re talking to yourself. And if you can’t be honest with yourself, you’re never going to find the answers you’re looking for.”

“I’m not looking for anything, I just want to wake up! I want to see, to _remember_ again …”

“Then you know what you have to do. Hold on to your anchor and you will see again.”

“It’s not gonna work, Derek. It’s not that easy, I can’t just -”

“ _Stiles, open your eyes._ ”

Stiles wants to tell him to fuck right off, but at that very moment the red glow in front of him somehow seems to intensify by a million times. It knocks the breath out of him for a moment, and before he knows it the darkness around him is turning into blinding light.

The first thing he sees after his eyes have adjusted themselves to the brightness is Derek’s face, and Stiles can’t help but let out a broken gasp. He doesn’t know anymore what’s real and what’s not, but one thing’s for sure: That pair of wide, green eyes staring down at him with an endless sea of emotions in them is as real as it can get.

“Oh thank God,” he hears a relieved voice somewhere beside him. Stiles can’t even be bothered to wonder who’s said that, because suddenly the memories come rushing back full force, hitting him so hard that his vision gets blurry again for just a few seconds. He remembers everything now, his life and his friends and -

“Derek?” he croaks out, his voice hoarse and shaky and barely audible.

Someone squeezes his hand, lightly but firmly at the same time. It feels like a promise, Stiles thinks, and then he suddenly realises that it’s _Derek’s_ hand that’s wrapped around his own, and that he’s still the only person he can see right now, and - shit, that means that Derek has actually _come back for him_.

He shouldn’t feel as overwhelmed with joy and relief and gratefulness as he does. It’s Derek, who hates him and sure as hell doesn’t want to be in his presence longer than absolutely necessary … But for some reason, Stiles fucking needs him to be here, so he can’t really complain. He doesn’t want to go back to that place full of darkness and pain and memory loss, he has to stay conscious this time. So, unfortunately he needs Derek for that. Because _fuck_ , apparently Derek Hale is _his fucking anchor_.

Life is fucking unfair.

“You … came back,” is all he manages to choke out.

Derek’s eyes are turning dark. He doesn’t respond, his lips are pressed tightly together, but eventually he gives a small nod, and that’s all the confirmation Stiles needs right now. Also, it probably means that Derek has figured it out as well - that Stiles’ life literally depends on his presence. Because otherwise he’d be most likely long gone by now.

“Stiles, you’re awake!” he hears someone exclaim, and then he sees another face pop up next to Derek’s. It’s Scott, his best friend. Oh thank God, he remembers him.

“Hi Scott.” Stiles gives his best attempt at smiling reassuringly, but it doesn’t seem to work because Scott keeps looking at him with a ton of worry in his big brown puppy eyes.

“Are you okay? Why didn’t you call _me_?” he asks, his voice heavy with concern, but before Stiles can even try to come up with an answer, they are interrupted by someone else, who Stiles doesn’t recognise at all, “Okay boys, step aside.”

“But he’s my best friend!” Scott protests without hesitation.

“And we are here to _save_ your friend,” the voice retorts completely unfazed. “Now move out of our way so we can actually do that. If you want to help, call his parents and tell them to come to the hospital.”

Scott seems to consider it for a moment, then he gives in and steps back with a nod. “Alright, I’ll call his Dad.”

“Thanks,” Stiles tells him, feeling relieved for about two seconds before realising that Scott isn’t the only one being sent away by the guy who is probably one of the paramedics. His heart skips a beat at that thought - no, they can’t make Derek leave, he has to stay with him and talk to him and _touch_ him, which isn’t what Stiles wants at all, but he definitely does not have a choice here if he wants to stay awake or rather _alive_.

“I’m not leaving,” Derek says matter-of-factly, like he’s read Stiles’ mind. (Which Stiles really, really hopes he can’t do, because that would make things very, very awkward between them and probably lead to Stiles dying of embarrassment. Then again, that would at least save them both from the pain of having to stay so close to each other, but Stiles just doesn’t think death will be quite worth it.)

“Young man, let go off his hand so we can get him in the ambulance and drive him to the hospital.” As soon as Stiles hears the paramedic’s voice again, he feels another wave of panic wash over him, and Derek seems to sense it, because he immediately tightens his grip around Stiles’ hand.

“I’m not leaving,” he repeats, his voice firm and his eyes even darker than before. In fact, Stiles thinks that his gaze could probably turn people into stone. “I’m coming with you.”

“Relatives only,” another voice pipes up, and that’s it, Stiles can’t take it anymore.

“He’s my … cousin,” he blurts out, desperate to convince them and save himself from passing out again. Nobody’s going to believe that anyway, but he has to try at least.

For a second or two, Derek looks taken aback. Then a hint of amusement begins to glisten in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, lips twitching, making it almost seem like he’s about to _smile_. “Right. His cousin … Miguel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I just had to throw the Miguel joke in there ... :D
> 
> So, that's it for today. I'll be back with the next chapter in 2019. Until then, let me know if you liked this one. xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone! Here's the new chapter, I hope you'll enjoy!
> 
> In this chapter, Sheriff Stilinski and Melissa McCall will make their appearances. As stated before, I don't follow a certain timeline in this story, but I decided that they both already know about the supernatural world, just to make things a little bit easier. ;)

Stiles can’t believe his lie has worked, but here he is lying in the ambulance, and Derek is right next to him and still holding his hand. They are both very obviously trying to ignore the awkwardness of it, and Stiles can’t help but think that actually, it even feels kind of … nice.

It’s not like he _wants_ to hold hands with Derek. He doesn’t. But it’s better than passing out again, that’s for sure. He definitely doesn’t want to go back to that horrible dark place where he can’t see or feel anything real.

“So, _Miguel_ … You came back,” Stiles says the second the doors of the ambulance have been closed. He’s blinking up at Derek, who just gives a small nod, the almost-smile from a minute ago clearly gone. “Why?” Stiles asks, even though he knows he shouldn’t push. He should just shut his mouth and hope they won’t have to talk about this, but let’s be honest - he’s not good at shutting up when he’s supposed to. Everyone knows that.

“Couldn’t let you die,” Derek replies eventually, his gaze turning into an unreadable expression that doesn’t appear quite as stoic as it’s probably meant to be. “I don’t want to have to deal with a mourning Scott, so. This is apparently my only other option.”

Stiles just can’t hold back a snort. “Oh, so this is about Scott? Really, Sourwolf? That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.” And because apparently he can’t stop being stupid, he lets some more words slip past his lips, “Just admit it, you _care_ about me.”

Derek shoots him an unimpressed look. “I don’t.” Stiles has to admit, the man sure does have some fine acting skills going on there. In fact, he should win an award for how convincing he seems right now, even though Stiles just _knows_ he’s lying. “Now shut up, Stiles. Actually, no, you still owe me an explanation for _this_ ,” and he slowly lowers his gaze to their entwined hands.

Stiles doesn’t even realise he’s beginning to gnaw at his lower lip. “How the hell am I supposed to know? I mean … I do have my suspicions. That one guy threw something at me, I think it might have been a hex. What if I’m actually _cursed_ , Derek?“

“Okay, enough with the fairytales,“ a slightly annoyed female voice groans, and - shit, Stiles has kind of forgotten that there are other people in this vehicle. Dammit. “And I thought his name was Miguel?“ the women adds as an afterthought, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“It’s not,“ Derek admits completely unfazed. How he manages to keep such a straight face is beyond Stiles. “He just likes to call me that for some reason.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. Stiles is almost a bit impressed - she’s probably the first woman ever who doesn’t seem to get easily enchanted by Derek Hale. “You are his cousin though, right?”

Derek doesn’t even blink. “That’s what I said.”

“Hmm,” she says, pointedly looking at their hands. “I don’t think so.”

Stiles feels his face heating up at that comment. “We’re a very close family,” he blurts out, which probably makes things only worse. Fuck, he should really learn how to shut up.

Judging from the way Derek is glaring at him now, he agrees with that last thought. “I’m starting to think you weren’t beaten up at all. Are you sure you didn’t just hit your head?”

“Funny,” Stiles says in a humourless voice, rolling his eyes at him. “Have you ever considered doing stand-up comedy?”

“Oh, he was definitely beaten up,” the woman beside him pipes up again, fumbling with an oxygen mask and eventually placing it on Stiles’ face. “Now, shush. Both of you, stop talking, you’re getting on my nerves.”

Stiles wants to protest, but at this very moment the vehicle comes to a halt and suddenly there are people everywhere. Before he knows it, they are in the hospital and he’s being taken to the emergency room, all while Derek refuses to let go off his hand. It’s not like they are not _trying_ to send him away, but every single one of them stops as soon as Derek’s murderous look hits them.

It’s probably because he’s the alpha, Stiles thinks. And, fuck, it’s _so hot_.

He attempts to distract himself by asking for Scott’s mum, but he’s being told that her shift doesn’t start for another hour. A young doctor and her assistants are beginning to do some tests, searching for internal injuries, and by the time they’re done and declare they haven’t found anything he should be worried about, the door to the emergency room opens and Melissa McCall finally walks in.

“Stiles!” she exclaims and rushes over to where he is lying on an examination couch and unsuccessfully fighting the urge to glance at Derek every three seconds. “I heard what happened to you! Scott told me, he’s waiting outside, and he says your father is on his way over, so we -“ She stills, raising her eyebrows questioningly at Derek who returns her gaze with a glare. “Who let _him_ in here?”

“He wouldn’t leave,” one of the assistants explains, annoyance clear in his voice.

“And I asked them to let my _cousin_ stay with me,” Stiles hurriedly adds, shooting a pleading look at her.

For the first time since he’s known Melissa, she actually looks taken aback. “Your … cousin,” she echoes slowly, to which Stiles nods vigorously. And because she is without any doubt one of the smartest women he knows, she actually seems to decide to trust him on this. “Right,” she says, and the second her gaze is falling on their entwined hands, the last hint of confusion vanishes from her eyes and is replaced with sudden realisation. “Oh … I mean, of course.”

Stiles feels himself blushing hard. This entire situation keeps throwing embarrassing moments at him, but there’s nothing he really can do about it. Being embarrassed is still better than being dead, right?

“So,” Melissa says, turning towards her colleagues, “do you already have the results?”

“He should be fine,” the doctor replies with a shrug. “We’re still waiting for the results of the blood test, but there are no internal injuries, everything looks good. We’ll keep him here overnight, just to be sure, but I think he can go home tomorrow.”

“Really?” Derek huffs out, and it’s the first time he’s spoken at all since they’ve arrived at the hospital. “What if he faints again?”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Stiles can’t stop himself from grumbling, but then Derek squeezes his hand in what feels like an almost reassuring way and to Stiles’ own great surprise it actually shuts him up for a minute.

The doctor audibly clears her throat. “We think he was unconscious due to the pain. There’s no other explanation at this point, but we’ll have to wait for the results of the blood test.”

“ _Cursed_ ,” Stiles mumbles so quietly that only Derek’s werewolf hearing can pick it up, but before Derek can react to it the door swings open and crashes against the wall with a loud bang.

“Sir, you can’t just go in there, it’s not -”

“I can, I’m the bloody Sheriff! Where is my son?”

Stiles’ eyes widen in shock. His dad sounds absolutely _furious_ , which is so uncharacteristic for him that he must be downright _pissed_ at someone. Stiles just hopes his anger isn’t directed at him, because sure, he hardly ever gets in a real fight with his dad, but that doesn’t mean it can’t happen at all, and he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to handle it very well right now.

“Hey Dad,” he says as nonchalantly as possible, raising his hand to send him a stupid little wave. Unfortunately, he realises belatedly that it’s the hand that’s still clutched to Derek’s, and he immediately feels his face heat up again. _Shit_.

Of course his father doesn’t miss any of it. “What is going on here?” he asks incredulously while stepping towards them.

“You’re still awake!” Scott, who is right behind him, exclaims utterly relieved. “You didn’t pass out again on the way here, did you?”

“Um, no, I’m fine,” Stiles murmurs and reluctantly squirms his hand out of Derek’s firm grip. He can’t do this, not in front of his father. Besides, who knows, the curse - or whatever this is - might already have worn off. He has to check at some point, right?

His dad looks like for once, he doesn’t understand a single thing that’s happening. “Are you sure? Who did this to you? Why the hell is it always you who gets himself in trouble? And what is _he_ doing here? Was he _holding your hand_?!?”

“Okay, let’s all calm down,” Melissa makes an attempt to save the day, while Stiles is still browsing his brain for a somewhat decent answer he can give. “I’ll get him a nice room so he can stay here overnight.”

“Good luck with that,” one of the assistants chimes in. “There have been so many emergencies today.”

Stiles can’t help but huff out a dry laugh, because _duh_ , it’s Beacon Hills. There are _always_ emergencies. “Dad, I’m fine,” he says, trying to sound convincing and ignoring the fact that his father is obviously still attempting to murder Derek with his glare. “Don’t worry about me, it’s gonna be - oh fuck,” he chokes out when a familiar feeling of weakness suddenly hits him, and while he’s still gasping for air, a slightly bigger hand slips into his own and squeezes it firmly.

“Stiles, take a deep breath,” he hears Derek’s low voice, and that’s all it takes for the weakness to completely vanish. Stiles can’t quite decide whether he should feel relieved or frustrated about that, to be honest.

“Okay, what the _hell_ is going on?” the Sheriff asks, disbelief written all over his face. “Because clearly, you are not fine, Stiles! - And _you_ ,” he adds, glaring at Derek, “step away from my son and get the hell out of here before I arrest you and throw you in jail!”

“Dad, no!” Stiles blurts out while Derek’s gaze visibly hardens. “Can we just … I’m gonna explain it to you later, okay? Just calm down, please.”

His father takes a sharp breath. “I’m going to calm down the second this man leaves the room. How could you let him in here?” he barks at Melissa and her colleagues, his voice heavy with accusation.

“I’m sorry,” the present doctor says, obviously very confused. “Your son insisted on having his cousin by his side.”

“His _cousin_?” the Sheriff repeats, completely caught off guard.

“Yes, his cousin. Your nephew, remember?” Melissa says, grabbing his arm and steering him out of the room. “Now calm down, alright? Scott, you’re staying with him in the waiting area until I find Stiles a room.” 

Stiles has never been more grateful for her existence. Seriously, she is so awesome, and to let her know how much her help means to him, he calls a “Thank you!” after her that’s probably a bit too loud, but he doesn’t care. He’s pretty sure that on most days, she doesn’t receive the recognition she deserves, so it’s the least he can do.

“Are you alright?” the doctor asks him after the door has fallen shut. She is looking slightly concerned. “We can get you a wheelchair and your cousin can take you to your room. You’re not going to pass out again, are you?”

“Hopefully not,” Stiles replies with a glance at Derek, whose face still looks like it’s made of stone. However, when the werewolf hears those two words slip past Stiles’ lips, his expression softens, if only a little bit.

“You won’t,” he says matter-of-factly. He sounds completely unfazed, like he doesn’t even care at all, but Stiles can hear it nonetheless - that tiny spark of emotion stirring in his voice.

It sounds like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, tell me what you think!
> 
> Also, I've started posting another story this week, you might want to [check it out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290955/chapters/40667285). xx


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm so sorry you had to wait this long for an update; real life's been a bitch lately, but I finally managed to finish this chapter. (I wrote most of it while trying not to fall asleep on my couch at seven pm on a Friday night - yes, being an adult is hell - so if this sucks, I'm sorry. xD)

Melissa does find a room for Stiles. It’s tiny, but somehow the hospital staff has managed to squeeze two beds and even a small table with two chairs in there anyway, and as Melissa states after quite uncharacteristically apologising at least three times, it’s “the only available room in this entire building”.

Derek pushes the wheelchair through the open door, using only one hand for it since the other one is firmly resting on Stiles‘ arm. There is a sleeping old man in the bed near the window, while the bed closer to the door is empty. “This is Mr Stone,” Melissa tells them, stepping into the room as well and pointing towards the white-haired guy whose lips are stretched into a peaceful little smile even in his sleep. “He is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, so you should be fine.”

“Thanks. Don’t worry, I don’t mind sharing a room,” Stiles assures her, hoisting himself out of the wheelchair and onto the empty bed. He already knows that he won’t be sleeping comfortably in it, but then again, sleep really isn’t one of his biggest concerns right now.

Derek doesn’t even hesitate to grab one of the chairs and pull it up to the bed. He’s sitting down with an unreadable expression on his face and then reaches forward, placing one hand loosely on Stiles’ left arm and pointedly ignoring the knowing yet slightly curious look Melissa is giving them.

“Okay, so this is really awkward,” Stiles says, deciding to just go ahead and explain everything to her. It’s definitely better than having her jump to conclusions. “Derek has to, uh, touch me,” he cringes at his own words but continues nonetheless, “because if he doesn’t, it could literally kill me. At least I think so. I mean, I pass out and don’t wake up again unless he, uh. You know. It’s weird. We think I’ve been cursed.”

“ _You_ think that. I never agreed with you,” Derek mutters under his breath and glares at him, looking stupidly attractive while doing so.

Stiles freezes for a couple seconds. Huh. What. Attractive? Where did that thought just come from?

“Cursed? How?” Melissa shakes her head in slight disbelief, but not as incredulously as she would have done a while ago, back then when she didn’t have a clue about the existence of werewolves and other supernatural stuff. “That doesn’t sound like a real thing, Stiles … I mean, what kind of curse would that even be?”

Stiles just shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

“Me neither,” Derek says, still glaring. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“Good,” Melissa replies with a sigh. “You better figure it out fast, because as far as I’m concerned, there is no logical explanation for this either, so they won’t keep you in here for longer than necessary.”

Stiles nods. “I know. It’s fine. I don’t need doctors and blood results for this.” He doesn’t say it aloud, “ _I need Derek_ ,” but he doesn’t have to. He knows it, Derek knows it. There is no point in denying it.

“I’ll make sure you get something to eat. Both of you,” Melissa says after looking back and forth between them for a minute. Then she slips out of the room and closes the door.

Ten seconds later it swings open again, revealing Scott and Allison who burst right into the room together. “Dude,” is the first thing that comes out of Scott’s mouth, “Derek, you’re still here? The Sheriff is on his way, if he sees you here he’s gonna kill you!”

Stiles kind of wants to scream in frustration. Why is nobody ever paying attention to what he says, _why_? “He can’t leave, dammit. He needs to stay with me.”

“Why?” Allison wonders, giving Derek a sharp look. “What could he possibly do to help you?”

 _He is my anchor_ , Stiles thinks, feeling partly just frustrated and partly downright bitter about it. He doesn’t voice that thought, however, and instead goes for, “I think he’s the only one who can keep me alive. Seems like I’ve been cursed.”

“You have been _what_?” his father all but shouts from where he’s suddenly popped up in the doorway. Oh shit. This isn’t going to end well, fuck.

“Dad, calm down, alright? We’ll figure it all out, I promise, but until then he has to stay with me. And please don’t yell, there’s an old man sleeping over there, we don’t want to wake him up,” Stiles manages to get out in a rush.

His dad enters the room, glaring daggers at Derek like he wants to pull his gun and shoot him right there. “He is not staying here, Stiles. I don’t have a fucking clue what you kids are up to this time, but this isn’t happening.”

Derek doesn’t move. He doesn’t even flinch, he just remains in his seat and glares back at the other man with a look on his face that could kill. Stiles huffs out a groan - this isn’t helping. At all.

“Look, Dad,” he says with a heavy sigh, “we don’t have a choice, alright? If he leaves, I’ll die - or at least pass out and never wake up again. None of us likes this, but we’ll have to accept it for now, until we figure out a way to break the curse.”

The Sheriff looks at him in complete disbelief. “Stiles, this isn’t funny. I know you have a wild imagination, but this is just ridiculous. There are no such things as curses.”

Stiles doesn’t even blink. “Yeah, well, you didn’t believe me when I first told you Scott was a werewolf, so …” His gaze drifts towards Derek. “Take your hand off, we’ll just prove it to them.”

His heart almost skips a beat when he realises that Derek’s actually _hesitating_ and that the expression in his eyes almost seems to soften a bit. “Are you sure?”

Stiles tries his best to ignore the butterflies that are suddenly swarming through his stomach. Shit. He’s not supposed to feel like that, just because Derek’s looking at him in a way that reveals that, yes, he actually cares. “I’m sure. It’ll be fine. Just … don’t leave, okay?”

“I won’t,” Derek says without missing a beat and takes his hand off of Stiles’ arm. Then he leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his unfairly broad chest, and Stiles can’t help but stare at him, even though he really, really shouldn’t.

“Well, this is weird,” Allison mutters - Stiles has kind of forgotten about her, and about Scott, and even about his dad. Dammit, he needs to _focus_.

“Very weird,” Scott agrees with a small frown on his face which kind of makes him look like a lost puppy. “What are we waiting for?”

Derek raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, and Stiles is about to give a further explanation when he is suddenly hit with that awful feeling of weakness once again. Derek seems to notice immediately and starts reaching out for him, but Stiles shakes his head, whispering “Not yet, wait a little”. Then everything turns black around him, and it feels like the darkness is swallowing his soul.

When he regains his consciousness, the first thing he sees is the relief in Derek’s eyes. The second thing is his father’s face, and it’s pretty much as pale as a face can get.

Stiles clears his throat. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough,” Derek replies seemingly unfazed, even though Stiles knows he’s not. “About two minutes. I let them try to wake you up for a bit.”

“Didn’t work, did it?” Stiles asks. He can’t help but sound a bit hopeful, but Derek doesn’t even hesitate to shake his head. Of _fucking course_ it didn’t work, because apparently fate hates his guts and wants to see him in as much pain as humanly possible. It’s not fair and Stiles allows himself to feel bitter about it for just a few seconds before addressing his father, “So, Dad … do you believe me now?”

Instead of answering that, the Sheriff turns towards Derek. “Let me make this perfectly clear to you,” he says, glaring at him despite still looking like he’s about to faint himself. “Whatever the hell _this_ is - the minute it’s over, you walk away and _never come back_. I mean it, you are not going to hurt any more people. Understood?”

“Dad, come on,” Stiles cuts in, but then he realises that Derek’s actually giving a little nod, his facial expression being completely blank, and Stiles’ eyes widen in disbelief. _Oh my God, they can’t be serious._

“I didn’t hear you answer my question,” the Sheriff says warningly.

Derek still doesn’t even bat an eyelid. “You won’t have to worry about me hurting anyone close to you anymore.”

“Good. Because otherwise, I will make sure to -”

Stiles can’t take it anymore - this is getting absolutely ridiculous. “What the fuck, Dad?” he blurts out, shooting into an upright position and nearly tumbling out of the bed. “You’re overreacting!”

“No, I’m not. He put you in danger. You almost got _killed_!”

“It’s not like he did it on purpose!” Stiles doesn’t even know why he is sort of defending _Derek_ of all people, but it feels like the right thing to do. Ever since his father witnessed the two of them fight off a bad guy together about three months ago and had to save his only son from being shot in the head, he’s been acting crazy like this.

Stiles gets it, kind of - it must have been a nightmare for his dad to fear for his son’s life, but it doesn’t justify holding Derek responsible for it. It wasn’t Derek’s fault - not this time at least - and Stiles has been tempted to tell his father about all those occasions when the werewolf has actually _saved his life_ , but he’s always been too afraid to go through with it. If his dad knew about all those dangerous situations Stiles has been in, he would go absolutely _mad_ and probably kill not only Derek but also Scott. Stiles can’t risk that.

“It doesn’t matter, Stiles. I’m not letting anyone hurt you,” the Sheriff says, his voice shaking a little, like he has to pull himself together in order not to lose it right there. And once again, it makes Stiles realise how much his dad loves him and how scared he must be that something bad could happen to him - and it almost makes Stiles tear up in front of everyone.

Instead of crying, which he absolutely refuses to do with Derek sitting right next to him, he leans to the other side of the bed, his arm slipping away from Derek’s touch, and then he’s giving his father a long, firm hug. It means “I love you and I’m glad you’re my dad” but also “I know you want to protect me but you can’t keep doing that for the rest of my life, I have to grow up and make my own decisions”. He really hopes his father understands all of it - judging from the way he’s hugging him back, maybe he does. 

“Um, we … we should go,” Allison mumbles somewhere in the background, reaching for Scotts hand and dragging him out of the room.

Stiles pulls away from the embrace, shuffling back to the other side of the bed and placing his left arm where it was before. He looks Derek straight into the eyes, silently giving him permission to put his hand back where it unfortunately belongs for now, and tries to tell himself that everything will be alright, even though he doesn’t understand any of this - Derek won’t leave him, he has _promised_ not to hurt him, and for some reason this is exactly what Stiles’ confused brain and stuttering heart need to know.

As long as he can hold on to his anchor, to _Derek_ , he is going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Comments and kudos would be greatly appreciated! xx


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